


It's Not Easy Being Green

by predictably_unpredictable



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Jealous John, John Plays Rugby, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Teenlock, Unilock, Virgin Sherlock, and a bit of, because John is a jealous bastard, rugby!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-28 05:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictably_unpredictable/pseuds/predictably_unpredictable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are university roommates and best friends in every sense of the word (Except that John might have a serious serious crush on said roommate). Even though he loves the man, for the sake of their friendship, Three Continents Watson hasn't pursued Sherlock romantically. However, now that Victor Trevor is back in town... things might just change.</p><p>The title literally says it all. (I hope no one's used it before haha)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said I was doing something special... TA-DA 
> 
> Basically, this is what I was occupying my time with when These Hours That Define Us got too angsty to write.
> 
> Also, this is a thank you piece to my-mind-palace-blog, because they've been so nice to me over tumblr chat and have encouraged me so much over the course of my writing of THTDU!!! Thank you babe.
> 
> This was done for one of the prompts they posted (((one if I remember, that was posted near their birthday? So happy vv belated birthday friend HAHAHA))). It was possessive John and I hope I'll do it justice!!!

“Hey Sherlock, you free tomorrow?” John chirps, peeking up from behind a sizeable stack of medical textbooks. “Mike and I are planning on trying out the new diner just outside of campus. It’ll be opening day so they’re supposedly gonna have _amazing student deals_.”

He finishes the sentence with a singsong lilt, watching as the duvet shifts, revealing the tousled curls of one Sherlock Holmes who moves to sit. His scruffy hair forms a dark halo around his head as he peers up at John with wide eyes.

John can’t help but take a deep breath at the sight.

Sherlock’s cerulean eyes sparkle in the fading light of day, his sharp, pale cheekbones highlighted by the warm light of his table lamp and all John wants to do is hold the beautiful creature in his arms and kiss him silly.

How he manages to look so gorgeous all the time, John doesn’t know, but the man always seems to have an ethereal look about him. And if John were to go so far as to wax poetic about Sherlock’s looks, he’d say he looked just like a man out of a Jane Austen novel or maybe a Byronic hero.

When he’d first met Sherlock, he’d thought that his initial obsession with his roommate’s looks would fade over time, that eventually his imposing features would fade into something more simple and familiar.

Oh, how wrong he’d been.

If anything, it’d gotten worse.

And to top it all off, John had fallen madly in love with him over the course of their first week of living together.

It’d been Sherlock’s fault really, the first night they'd met, the man had taken him on a cross-campus adventure to solve a mystery pertaining to the mysterious disappearances of lab equipment from the biology labs.

Several angry teachers, two guilty art students and one dangerous midnight bicycle chase later, John had been swept up into the world of Sherlock Holmes.

It’d been like a vortex, pulling him in with the man himself at the centre.

It was the adrenaline rush, the deductions, the dry wit... everything! Everything that was Sherlock Holmes just seemed to resonate with him on some higher emotional plane that John had yet to give name to.

And John had fallen.

He’d fallen _hard_.

It also didn’t help that ever since the third week of their acquaintanceship, something in their relationship had undergone a dramatic change, giving John something he couldn’t have possibly dreamed of when he’d first met Sherlock.

The possibility of his affection being reciprocated.

It’d started when John had returned from rugby practice, all sweaty, grimy and gross as he’d made his way into their dorm.

He’d been positive that Sherlock would complain about the stench, that he’d try to chase John out the moment he’d stepped into the room, so John had made a mental map prior to his entrance as to where all his bathing materials and clean clothes were, ensuring that he would be able to make a quick getaway.

However, instead of being greeted by disdainful, scathing remarks, John had gotten something entirely different.

Sherlock had been sitting at his table just as he’d entered, engrossed in work before the loud clacking of the door had gotten his attention.

He’d turned around then, his mouth half open, the beginnings of a half-formed insult sitting precariously on his tongue until… their eyes had met.

And it’d felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

John remembers watching as Sherlock’s eyes widened visibly, pupils expanding into sky blue irises as he abruptly shut his mouth, biting his bottom lip.

John had licked his lips, his eyes riveted to Sherlock’s, their gazes locking as Sherlock stared at him with something almost akin to hunger.

But then, he’d blinked.

And the moment had been over as soon as it’d began.

Sherlock had turned back to his textbook, murmuring to himself even as his cheeks turned a bright shade of pink and John had grabbed his stuff and made his exit right then and there.

Since then, there’d been longing stares in classrooms, corridors, lecture halls, you name it. However, all of them had gone by in a flash, disappearing all too soon like a fleeting daydream and John wasn’t really sure if he’d imagined all of this or if it’d been real.

He hopes to hell that it’s real though.

“Er, John,” Sherlock murmurs sheepishly as John draws himself out of his own thoughts, “I was kind of er… reading? So I didn’t really catch any of that. Mind if you repeat it?”

John smiles, swivelling his chair over to face his handsome roommate.

“Would you like to come for lunch tomorrow with Mike and I?” he repeats, fixing Sherlock with a broad grin. “I promise you that it’ll be fun… and cheap.”

Sherlock snorts at this, his eyes sparkling in silent laughter and in that moment John would have loved nothing more than to have captured his lips in a searing kiss.

And that’s when it happens again.

The air in the room seems to grow thick with tension as Sherlock’s eyes meet his. The other man smiles up at him shyly, his eyelids fluttering as John flashes a wide grin back, absolutely enraptured.

Why does Sherlock have to be so alarmingly attractive all the time?

“That’s really nice of you John,” he says, his voice cracking, and John almost forgets how to breathe.

But then the spell breaks, the world rushing back in as Sherlock’s gaze falls, his lips pressed into a gentle frown.

“But… I can’t,” he continues, his gaze growing apologetic, “I mean I’d really love to, I really would, but I already have other plans. Maybe next time?”

“Sure!” John replies, chuckling even as a little bit of disappointment begins to settle in his stomach. “It’s perfectly alright. Are you free the day after?”

“Hmmm,” Sherlock hums, “I think I should be… Victor will probably be going to visit his relatives on that day… We won’t be able to meet up then so it should be fine.”

John’s brow furrows, his nose crinkling in confusion.

He’s positive that Sherlock has never mentioned a “Victor” before and as far as John knows, there isn’t any Victor in their year.

Which means that Victor is probably not from their year? Or maybe even their school?

But that can’t be right… they’d ever discussed Sherlock’s friends from sixth-form… well not so much friends as enemies technically, and never once had Sherlock ever said anything about a “Victor”.

And judging from the way that Sherlock’s talking about him, he seems to be a friend? Of some sort? Which is is strange because never has Sherlock Holmes bothered to meet up with a past acquaintance, let alone spoken favourably about any one of them.

But he’d have to be important enough for Sherlock to arrange a meet-up with so it has to be a close friend from his past… or maybe… something even more than friends?

Sherlock’s sexuality isn’t a secret to John, he’d found that out the week after they’d met. Sherlock’s friend Irene Adler had come bustling up to them in the cafeteria during lunch, remarking about how it was nice that Sherlock had “finally found himself a boyfriend worth keeping.”

Sherlock had flushed red then, melting into a stuttering, bumbling mess till John had reassured him and told him that “it was all fine”.

Sherlock’s reaction had been understandable to be honest, given the fact that John was a rugby player. The man had had some rather nasty run-ins with the senior members of the rugby team before John had transferred in so it wasn’t surprising that he’d think the same of John.

Thank god that they’d all already graduated though, he hadn’t quite been looking forward to having to chin someone every week.

To cut a long story short, John knew very well that Sherlock was only ever interested in guys and guys alone. But even though he knew of Sherlock’s sexuality, Sherlock technically didn’t know about John’s.

John had never told him that he was bi. In fact, almost no one knew aside from Mike, Greg and Harry.

He’d grown up in a household that hadn’t exactly been supportive of that kind of thing so he’d kept himself closeted. And even though he was now technically free from the punishing constraints of his family, he’d still been loath to come out.

His sister Harry had ever tried, dragging him off to gay bar after gay bar, but somehow each trip seemed to end with Harry getting drunk and John having to drive her home.

So John had never told Sherlock about his sexuality, after all Sherlock had barely ever discussed his since that fateful encounter with Irene, making it harder for John to segue it naturally into a conversation.

And it hadn’t felt necessary at the time. John had still felt some apprehension at pursuing a relationship with Sherlock, fearful of rejection and the subsequent fallout because he did not want to lose this - this thing that they had going on, whatever it was.

Because John needs Sherlock like he needs air.

After having lived together with him for so long (one year, four months and 3 days to be exact), it’s become harder and harder for John to remember a past where Sherlock Holmes did not exist and easier and easier to envision a future where they are together (preferably forever).

Sherlock had somehow managed to insinuate his way into John’s life, becoming a vital part of John’s being so much so that separation would be simply unbearable for him.

Because meeting and getting to know Sherlock had felt like finding something that John hadn’t known he’d been looking for.

It hadn’t been anything remotely similar to how people had described it in romantic comedies. It’d been nothing like that “finding the other half of your heart” kind of bullshit but rather… Sherlock complements John in ways that he could never have imagined.

They have become something akin a team, making up for each other’s failings and building on each other’s strengths.

They are better together somehow… which is why losing Sherlock due to a botched confession would be absolutely devastating.

When it had come to his past girlfriends and boyfriends, John had always been certain that his potential partners liked him enough not to reject him. However, with Sherlock, one can’t ever be too sure.

There’d been those fleeting moments yes, when John had allowed the possibility of a relationship with Sherlock to cloud his mind, gazing at Sherlock while the man himself gazed back, looking at John as if he was the Sun himself.

But was that enough really? Was that enough evidence to prove that asking Sherlock Holmes out on a date wouldn't be met with an instant rejection?

Although... If he’d known that there’d been another competitor for Sherlock’s affections, maybe he would have considered a shotgun confession.

“Er… Sherlock,” John starts. He feels a little on edge and slightly out of his depth. He doesn’t want to seem too curious because Sherlock would get suspicious, so he settles for a more subtle approach.

“I don’t believe you’ve ever mentioned a Victor before,” he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Sherlock blinks in surprise.

“Didn’t I mention him yesterday?” he says, narrowing his gaze. “I had an hour long conversation with you about how busy I’d be this week with Victor coming back to England.”

 _Yesterday?_ John thinks, _But… Oh._

“Sherlock… I was out the whole day,” John replies in slight exasperation. “Rugby retreat remember?”

It’s not the first time that Sherlock has done this - talked to him when he wasn’t actually around so Sherlock responds with a soft “Oh”, gritting his teeth in embarrassment.

“Oops, sorry John. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok Sherlock,” John reassures him, flashing him a huge grin. Oh god, he didn’t mean to make him feel bad about it, it’s just the way the genius boy’s mind works and if John has to get used to it, he will get used to it. “I know that it's something that you do to help yourself think better and on no account should you change that for me.”

Sherlock smiles warmly up at him, the relief evident on his face as he scoots over to the edge of the bed, closer to John.

“Well… if you must know...” he starts, “Victor was a close friend of mine from secondary school. We met in the park by my house. His dog bit me when I accidentally tripped over its tail on an evening walk, so as compensation, he offered to walk me back home to ensure my leg didn’t give out.”

John cringes, frowning as his imagination conjures up a picture of a younger Sherlock being viciously attacked by a gigantic dog (with a valiant Victor in the background playing knight in shining armour and rescuing him).

“Don’t worry it ended up being pretty superficial,” he says, clearly having noticed the discomfort on John’s face, though misconstruing it for something else. “It just hurt like hell.”

“We talked as Mycroft helped to bandage up my leg,” he continues, his eyes taking on a faraway look, “and we discovered that we shared similar interests.”

“We bonded over our mutual love of Chemistry and as an added bonus, he lived just down the road so we’d meet up every day to study and sometimes play with Buster, his dog. Because of this, we became really close friends in the span of... about a week?”

“That’s nice,” John replies, smiling up at Sherlock even as something dark and vicious starts to settle in his belly.

Oh no, he is not getting jealous over Sherlock’s secondary school friend. He is NOT.

He should probably thank Victor for keeping Sherlock company, for being such a great friend to him instead of wanting to burst into flame every time Sherlock mentions his name and yelling at Victor that on no account is he allowed to so much as touch Sherlock Holmes because goddammit he saw him first.

Oh boy.

Where had that come from? That had definitely come from a very dark place yeesh.

John hasn’t even met the man, he could be the nicest bloke in the world for all he knows.

The nicest bloke in all the world who could so happen to be Sherlock’s ex-boyfriend.

Sherlock smiles in response, not seeming to have noticed John’s inner turmoil as he continues.

“Victor’s father was a businessman who owned a company that was based in Australia. He was a hard man and Victor and I didn’t like him very much, but I do have to admit that he was a pretty efficient manager.”

“However, his company ran into debt due to the economic crisis so Mr Trevor had to shift back to Sydney to sort things out and eventually... so did his whole family.”

“After we finished our O levels, we said our goodbyes and Victor left. I believe that that was the last I saw of him,” Sherlock continues, almost wistfully. “Well of course until now that is.”

John nods his head in sympathy, forcing down burgeoning feelings of jealousy as he shifts off his chair, setting himself down next to Sherlock.

“So,” he begins, clearing his throat, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. “Now that he’s back... Is he back for good, or?”

He lets the question trail off, leaving it open for Sherlock to answer however he wishes.

“Well, he’s just coming over to check out the universities here and there,” Sherlock responds “His family’s financial situation is a lot more stable now so he’s expressed some interest to study here in the UK.”

“Hmmmm…” John hums, trying to figure out what to say next.

“Well I guess there’s no surprise in that really,” he says, trying to sound as normal as he can possibly be, “We’ve got really nice campuses, really great food and amazing weather. It’s no surprise that he’d want to come here.”

_Or maybe… just maybe… It’s no surprise since there’s a CERTAIN CONSULTING DETECTIVE WHO SO HAPPENS TO LIVE HERE._

Sherlock fixes him with a withering look.

“John, you’ve often despaired over the state of our campus facilities, going so far as to say that you’d willingly single-handedly rebuild the science block brick by brick if it meant proper insulation from the cold.”

“You hate the food here too, often complaining about how greasy and oily most of it is, so much so that you prefer Thai takeaway to restaurant food. And you absolutely detest the weather, as many of your post-rugby rants can attest to.”

Sherlock finishes his monologue, his gaze softening even as John’s hair stands on end, inwardly panicking because shit has Sherlock seen through him?

“John…” Sherlock begins, his voice calm and collected, the kind of voice you’d use to soothe a frightened animal, “Is there something wrong-”

“NOTHING!” John almost yells, goosebumps erupting out of his skin. “It’s nothing, absolutely nothing. It’s just…” _quick John, think of something quickly,_ “... been a long day ya know. Classes were tiring… Rugby was tiring...”

“John,” Sherlock says, his face filled with confusion, “John, today’s Sunday.”

John didn’t think it was physically possible to feel one’s cheeks going red.

Well, guess he was wrong on that account.

“Haaa…” he begins, stalling for time even as sweat begins to bead on his forehead, “Er… Well would you look at the time!”

“John it’s only 10 o’clock.”

“As I said, look at the time!”

“You only ever go to bed at half past twelve.”

“Well I’m tired from all the work I did today,” John protests, grasping at straws as he rises from his seat, half-stumbling towards his bed. “I deserve an early night-”

“You spent half the day lazing about in bed and watching clips of “Britain’s Got Talent” on your mobile phon-”

“Goodnight Sherlock!”

And with that, John plops down onto the bed, rolling onto his side as he covers his head with his blanket.

He hears Sherlock let out a sigh, returning to his book with the rustle of crinkling pages as his side of the room grows darker, meaning that Sherlock must have shifted the light over to his side.

“Goodnight John,” he mumbles, clearly a little puzzled and annoyed as he settles back into bed.

John lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He manoeuvres himself into a more comfortable position, curling his feet up into himself as he begins to properly process all the information that he’d gathered about this “Victor Trevor” guy so far.

Sherlock had said that Victor’s father had been a businessman who owned a company, a company which was likely multinational, given that he was working in England even though it was based in Australia. And running into debt aside, Sherlock had said that Victor’s economic situation had improved immensely.

Which means that Victor has to be rich, filthy rich.

And as an added bonus, Victor must be pretty cerebral as well, one has to be to discuss anything Chemistry-related with Sherlock Holmes.

In short, Victor Trevor is probably a posh, intelligent git who is better than John Watson in every known way and most definitely has a better shot at becoming Sherlock’s boyfriend than John does.

John groans softly at his own misfortune.

Of course the only other person vying for Sherlock’s affection had to be Mr Perfect himself.

John scowls, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

But wait… he’s getting ahead of himself.

Sherlock hasn’t actually mentioned anything about being involved with Victor romantically, neither does John know whether Victor is truly romantically interested in Sherlock or not. Heck, he might not even be interested in guys at all, why the hell is he jumping to such conclusions?

He should probably give the man a chance, rather than pass judgment on a person that he’s never met before.

And whoever said that Sherlock Holmes had to date John Watson anyway.

It’s not like John’s entitled to anything that Sherlock has to offer, especially his affection and adoration and he shouldn’t be thinking of him as such.

He’s better than this.

Sherlock can date whoever he wants to date, even if that person isn’t John Watson.

He sighs in exasperation, fearing that one day his impulsivity will be the end of him if he keeps going on like this.

He shuts his eyes, burrowing further under the blanket in shame even as Sherlock mumbles a soft “Goodnight John” before flicking the lamp switch, sending the room into darkness.

He listens to the evened breathing of his roommate, a comforting rhythm that moves his heart rate to slow, calming him down.

 _Sherlock can do absolutely whatever he wants with his life_ , he thinks as the haze of jealousy clears, _literally whatever he wants_.

And he will have to suck it up and accept it, no matter what he chooses.

Because Sherlock, regardless of whatever the man says, requires a lot of consistent love and affection. But unfortunately for him, his friend to “affection required” ratio is shit and John is most definitely not going to be that guy who disparages his friend’s choices just because they don’t suit him.

That’s not what he does, nor is that what any decent human being should do. They’ve grown too close over the past year for John to hurt him like that.

John flips himself onto his other side, opening his eyes a fraction.

Sherlock’s already fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, fluid motion even as the beginning snuffles of a snore begin to permeate the surrounding air.

John grins at the sight, turning away onto his back.

Well… Whatever happens, John will probably still have Sherlock’s friendship to hold on to at the end of the day, and that’s still more than anybody could ever ask for.

 _It’ll be fine,_ John thinks to himself as sleep begins to overtake him, his eyes beginning to draw close.

It’ll all be fine.

  
  
  


\----

  
  
  


Everything was not fine.

“John,” Mike huffs in exasperation, “John I know that he’s your best friend, but isn’t this a bit… much?”

“Mike! He always shows up for our study sessions, he always does! What if something's happened to him?” John mutters through gritted teeth, anxiously clutching the edges of his textbook.

“John, he and Victor haven’t seen each other for years, it’s perfectly understandable if they want to have a bit more time to catch up.”

“But… He would have called or texted… or something!”

“John-”

But Mike doesn’t get to finish.

He’s interrupted by the steady trill of John’s handphone instead, the vibration startling him as John makes a dive for the mobile device.

Mike waits with bated breath as John unlocks his phone, hoping that he hadn’t been right about Sherlock being in trouble.

Thankfully, the man breaks into a huge smile upon the Text ID, his eyes brightening as he thumbs through the conversation and Mike heaves a sigh of relief.

However, his countenance sours visibly after a few seconds, his eyes turning downcast as he sighs, handing the phone over to Mike.

“Read it,” he mumbles dejectedly.

Mike frowns as he scrolls through the text, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“I don’t see anything wrong with this,” he says, flashing John a perplexed look.  

“Just- read it again,” John mutters, burying his face in his hands.

“John, all it says is that he’s going to be hanging out with Victor for a bit longer and might be slightly late for dinne-”

“That’s the whole problem!” John almost yells, throwing his hands up in the air, the gesture catching Mike off guard.

As far as he knows, John has never been prone to dramatics and it’s simultaneously surprising and worrying to see his friend behave like this.

And thank god they chose to study at the benches by the field today rather than at the library, otherwise they would have been chased out,

“Sorry?” Mike apologises, even though he’s not particularly sure what he’s apologising for, “but I think I’m missing something.”

“I… I… I just… I...” John stutters, tripping and stumbling over the words, giving Mike more cause for concern.

In all the years that he’s known John, he’s never once seen his friend in this state.

“I…” John continues, sounding alarming close to tears, “I… Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that Sherlock has another friend.”

Mike nods his head in response, encouraging John to continue even as the man takes a deep breath, obviously in a bid to calm himself down.

“He has so few already and it’s great to know that there’s more people out there who appreciate and care for him…”

He pauses, burying his face in his hands again as Mike sighs, setting John’s phone down on the table.

“There’s a but isn’t there,” Mike prompts.

John nods, looking the most upset that Mike has ever seen him.

“It’s just…” John mutters, his voice cracking a little, “Mike... What if they like each other? You know… In that kind of way?”

“Oh,” Mike breathes.

_Oh._

“So that’s what this is all about!” he cries, shaking his head miserably, “John you can’t possibly be serious.”

“But I am!” John almost yells, a frenzied look in his eye, “It’s possible alright! Sherlock’s told me a whole bunch about him!”

“Like what?” Mike sighs, sounding wholly unconvinced.

“Well… He said that they were friends from secondary school,  that Victor was insanely intelligent and horrendously rich and… and to top it off he had a dog! That Sherlock LIKED!”

“John, you’re getting a bit hysterical,” Mike mumbles, rolling his eyes, “And I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the exact phrasing that Sherlock used.”

“Yeah… You’re right,” John groans, tugging at his fringe fitfully, “I’m… just… Yeah, ignore the dog bit please.”

Mike nods, flashing John a reassuring look.

“It’s just, I really like him,” John groans, collapsing head-first onto their study table, the exaggerated motion prompting Mike to shake his head. “I really do and I don’t know if I can handle seeing him together with someone else.”

“What even makes you think that Sherlock likes him in that way in the first place?” Mike huffs, resting his elbows on the table.

“It’s not like he said anything that hinted at him being interested in him romantically-”

“He’s Mr Perfect, of course Sherlock likes him!” John interjects, his voice muffled by his shirtsleeve.

“I can’t compete with that and I don’t want to because Sherlock can date whoever he wants,” he says monotonously, sounding as if he's repeating the words by rote, “It’s his life not mine… But I still hoped-”

And that’s when Mike decides that he’s had enough.

“Am I talking to the same John Watson I met all those years ago?” he bellows, his eyebrows arching fiercely downwards, “Because this sounds nothing like you!”

“What do you mean?” John mumbles despondently, shifting his head to face Mike.

“You! I’m talking about you!” Mike exclaims, pointing an accusatory finger in John’s direction, “John Watson, star rugby player who got so exceptionally good that they allowed you to transfer to this school… MID-TERM.”

John raises a finger in objection, clearly wanting to say something but Mike barrels on, ignoring him completely.

“And it’s not just John Watson, star rugby player,” he continues, “it’s also John Watson the _med student_.”

John mumbles something incoherent at this, burying his face in his arms once again.

He looks so defeated that Mike’s gaze softens, deciding that he might have been too harsh on him.

“Med school is hard John,” he says, taking the edge off his voice to match his friend’s dispiritedness, “Everyone finds it hard, heck even _I_ find it hard and yet you seem to breeze through classes like no one’s business.”

John doesn’t respond to this, his head still smushed up against his shirtsleeves so Mike sighs, reaching a hand over to squeeze John’s shoulder.

“John, you’re intelligent, sporty and may I say exceptionally good-looking judging by all the looks people shoot you in the hallways. And to top it all of, you’re oozing confidence, amazingly loyal and have a great heart.”

He watches as John’s head rises from the table, blinking up at him as if in a stupor.

He smiles, certain that his words have done their work.

“You’re an extraordinary guy, John,” he says sincerely, “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Thanks Mike…” John mumbles, grinning up at him.

 _Oh thank god,_ Mike thinks, _meltdown averted_.

“...But I don’t appreciate lies.”

And with that John drops his head, his face once again disappearing beneath the curve of his arms.

“JOHN! Oh come on-”

He reaches out to grab John’s sleeves, shaking his arms in the hope that his friend will somehow come to his senses.

But John refuses to budge, his head stoically downturned.

Sighing deeply, Mike opens his mouth, preparing to talk some sense into his friend.

However, just as he’s about to deliver what would probably have been the most heartfelt speech he had ever made in his life, he’s interrupted.

“Hey boys.”

A sultry, smooth voice curls from the corner of the room, startling Mike before he realises who the owner of the voice is.

“Hi Irene,” he says gloomily, turning around to face her.

Irene is one of those people who never got the memo that the “university grunge” look is perfectly acceptable (even welcomed in fact) if one is indeed studying in an educational institution where one’s propensity to care about one’s dressing is directly proportional to one’s time spent in said educational institution.

She’s always dressed to kill, donning sleek, shimmery dresses (and occasionally high heels) for classes and lectures.

Every time that Mike has seen her, she always somehow has full makeup on, even for 8 a.m. classes.

How she does it? Nobody knows.

Irene is a living legend in herself, quite like Sherlock in fact, so much so that the two have often been made comparison of, especially since both are known for their intelligence, ethereal looks and acerbic wit.

One clear difference though… would be their level of sexual experience.

In that aspect, Irene definitely has an advantage over Sherlock.

Irene flashes Mike a Cheshire Cat smile, her lips curved upwards into a sleek grin before she turns her attention to John, her smile faltering.

“Mike, is there something wrong with John?” she questions, frowning down at John’s unmoving body.

“John thinks that Sherlock’s got his eyes on Victor Trevor,” Mike replies, “you know, Sherlock’s secondary school friend whom he hasn’t met in years.”

“Oh, Victor!” Irene exclaims, recognition sparkling in her gaze, “Yeah Sherlock’s mentioned him before, he seems like a nice guy-”

“Then I’m doomed,” John mumbles, his voice just barely audible over the thick fabric of his jumper.

Mike flashes Irene a pleading look, hoping that Irene has some idea on how to deal with this. Nodding in response, Irene shoos Mike towards the other end of the bench, taking a seat directly opposite John.

“I’ll take it from here,” she mouths to Mike who responds with a comical salute, turning back to his textbook to study in peace.

“John,” she begins, inhaling deeply, “you can’t really be serious.”

“No, I really am,” John replies promptly, the words staccato pinpricks against Irene’s skin.

It’s a bit disheartening, seeing John like this. He’s always been the sunny, confident, golden boy to her, unfazed by anything that life throws at him, so it does come as a shock to her, seeing John so despondent like this.

This seems like a hard problem to fix, even for her. She’s been known to give out solid relationship advice (and sex advice but that’s another story altogether), but knowing John’s stubborn character, who knows whether he’ll listen to her or not.

However, even though it will be challenging, she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try.

“John,” she croons, tilting her head so that it rests comfortably on the palm of her hand, “I can’t tell if you’re really unobservant or if you’re just joking around.”

“What do you mean?” John mutters, refusing to lift his head off of his arms.

 _Oh this is not going to work_ , she thinks, mentally counting from 1 to 10 before continuing.

“Sweetheart, have you _seen_ Sherlock Holmes?” she says, “He looks at you like the centre of his fucking universe every time I catch you both together.”

“It’s so sweet it makes me sick,” John lets out a chuckle at this, prompting Irene to grin in triumph. At least humour still works on him.

“You must know that he’s dragged me to every single rugby game you’ve ever had, just because YOU were there-”

“He never did that because of m-”

“Oh yes, he did,” Irene maintains, “And I should know, he was making googly eyes at you all the time! It was quite entertaining for me if I do say so myself, I’ve never seen him like that before-”

“Maybe he just likes rugby,” John posits.

Irene’s brow furrows, clearly taken aback by his words.

“You’re being awfully dense now John, I really hope you know that-”

“But it’s true!” John protests, “After every game, he always comes up to me, telling me how to move, how to pass, how to… whatever. He definitely enjoys the mechanics of the game.”

“John, I promise you that before you came around, Sherlock had never once been to a rugby game, let alone stepped near the goddamn field,” Irene says, shaking her head, “Alright, if you don’t believe me on that account, then how do you explain why Sherlock chooses to sit near the bleachers to study every time you guys have practice.”

“It’s to help me find out what’s wrong with my movements and such, he’s said so before…”

“Ok fine, what about that time when both of you came with me to pride and held hands all throughout the march.”

“That’s because he didn’t want to get separated from us Irene! It was a huge crowd!”

“John, you’re going to be the death of me,” Irene sighs, desperately racking her brain for something else to say. She’s running out of convincing evidence, so she might as well pull out all the stops she can.

“Well he’s played the violin for you,” she says, trying to sound as indifferent as possible, hoping that the significance behind the words will sink through John’s thick skull.

John raises his index finger in reply.

“Once,” is all he says, before he retracts his finger, his arm falling limply onto the table.

Irene feels like she’s going to spontaneously combust.

“But John! You know full well that he’s refused to play for anyone else” she insists, “even I haven’t gotten a free concert and I’ve known him for _10 years_.”

John mumbles incoherently at this, still refusing to raise his head.

It seems like she’ll have to settle for humour again.

“John,” she begins, “in my humble opinion-”

John produces a bitten off laugh at this, as does Mike. Irene smirks at both of them, certain that she’s finally gotten through John’s thick skin.

“-if you confessed to him right now, I’m sure he’d say yes.”

There’s a short pause as John raises his head, looking Irene dead in the eye.

“No, he really wouldn’t.”

And that’s when Irene snaps.

“Oooooh, _men_ ,” she says, spitting the word with a substantial amount of venom as John's head falls to the table once more. “You guys never get anything done.”

“Just TELL HIM how you feel and be done with it,” she all but yells, “I don’t believe Mike wants to play Aunt Agony for you any longer than I do.”

“Thanks,” John replies, giving her a thumbs up with his face still plastered to the table, “I appreciate it.”

Irene shakes head, mouthing “good luck” to Mike before turning on her heel, stalking towards the corridor.

“See you later boys,” she calls, disappearing down the corner as Mike hollers a “see ya” back.

When he's certain that she's gone, Mike grabs his books, scooting back to the empty space that Irene had occupied.

Planting himself right in front of John, he leans forward, resting a hand on John’s arm.

“John, you do know that she’s right, right?” he says earnestly, “Sherlock really does adore you and I’m not sure anything could ever really change that.”

There’s a pause and a shuffle as John raises his head once again.

“Sure Mike,” he mumbles sarcastically.

And Mike gives up entirely.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this!!! There's much more to come (2 chapters more I believe) I'm not sure how often I can post but I will see how my schedule goes... heh
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://predictably-unpredictable.tumblr.com) !!! I'm always open to you guys, drown my ask box in messages if you want haha. Headcanons are gr8 too :,) Who knows I might consider writing some haha. I need fluff to keep me going in the angst fest that is the other fic.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two is here!!! Finally! My internet was down so it took me a while to post. Btw this isn't beta'd so you might have to wait for me to get my wifi stability back so I can edit lmao. Enjoy the chapter!!!

John knocks his head against his study table with a resounding ‘thud’, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he scrambles to concentrate on the medical text in front of him.

He needs to finish this chapter before he has dinner, he has to. Otherwise, he’ll never clear the rest of the syllabus in time for the Biology test a few weeks from now. There’s just far too many topics to cover.

And to add insult to injury, he’s got a rugby game tomorrow. That’s really going to shorten his studying time significantly so he has to get a move on.

He sighs as he rights himself, focusing bleary eyes on glossy pages once more.

However, if he were to be honest, studying is probably one of his least worrying problems right now.

Because, it’s a little after 8 o’clock at night and for some reason...

... Sherlock still isn’t back.

John hasn’t seen hide or hair of him, nor has he received any text from the man informing him where he is and John is starting to get worried.

He’s been trying desperately for the past hour to keep himself from thinking about Sherlock, but nothing has worked, his imagination seemingly determined to convince him that Sherlock is in some trouble or other.

Although, he should be thankful that his thoughts have remained on that track.

Because the alternative would be unthinkable.

Releasing the edges of the textbook, John watches sullenly as the book falls off the table, clattering onto floor.

This isn’t going to work.

He rises from his seat, scooping up the book as he makes his way to his bag. He scoops up the box of take away, pulling out a pair of disposable chopsticks before making his way back to the table.

Goddammit, studying is going to be absolutely impossible until he sorts this issue with Sherlock out with himself.

He lifts the lid of the packaging, breathing in the fragrant smell of ee-fu noodles before tucking in, finally allowing his mind to once again wander to thoughts of Sherlock and Victor.

He should honestly be totally fine with Sherlock and Victor dating. Sherlock and him are friends, just friends and nothing more, it’s not like they’re dating or anything. Why he should have such a visceral reaction to thoughts of them kissing… or maybe making out… or maybe having sex with Sherlock shouting Victor’s name as they ride through orgasm together is totally beyond hi-

GEEZ.

John buries his face in his hands, groaning in frustration as he tries to remove that visual from his head, because goddammit Sherlock-

_Is supposed to be yours._

No, no, John thinks to himself, trying to shut the more primal side of his brain up, We’re just friends, it’s nothing more than that-

_Well both Irene and Mike seem to think so… And you know full well that Sherlock does find you, at the very bare minimum, moderately sexually attractive._

So what if he does, John retorts, It’s not like Sherlock would want to be in a relationship with him just because he found him sexually attractive. And regardless of the fact, John would never push Sherlock into doing anything he didn’t want to do, especially a relationship.

_But you know, you could at least talk to him about it. Tell him how much you like him, love him, adore him even, maybe even how much you want to fuc-_

“NO,” John yells, his voice piercing the silence of the room as he shoves his chair away, standing up abruptly. He holds his hands up close to his ears, his fists clenched as his chopsticks clatter to the floor.

Why does his brain have to do this every single time he likes someone? Well, to be honest it hadn’t been this bad for his ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends. For his past relationships, he’d been able to shut his thoughts up with a singular “no, fuck off” to the darker side of his brain and then everything would have been fine. However, with Sherlock… It doesn’t seem to be working.

 _That’s because Sherlock is different,_ the voice comes again, _He’s literally anything and everything you’ve ever wanted. Are you really prepared to let him slip through your fingers?_

Well, John replies, If it means that Sherlock would be happy and content… Then yes, why not?

Why not?

“John! I’m so sorry!”

John whips his head around at the noise, turning to face the door as Sherlock stumbles through the door, clutching his satchel bag close to his chest.

“I meant to be back in time for dinner but there was a traffic jam coming back,” he breathes, shutting the door soundly behind him, “Sorry for making you wait.”

“It’s alright,” John says, smiling brightly up at his dishevelled looking, out-of-breath flatmate. He’d clearly run up the steps to get here. “It’s good to know you’re safe. I tried texting you but-”

“My phone is dead,” Sherlock huffs, “Victor, in a fit of excitement, decided to introduce me to some new mobile game that apparently everyone’s been raving about.”

“I downloaded it and found it mediocre, much to his disappointment. However, I left the application running in the background and my phone went dead.”

Sherlock lets out a loud sigh, collapsing into the chair opposite John’s as John’s eyes suddenly light up in realisation.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out, struggling to hold back his laughter, “New mobile game? He introduced you to Pokémon go didn’t he?”

“Hmmm…” Sherlock hums, struggling to remove his coat while still remaining seated, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“But Sherlock… You left the room with a full battery! And the only way for the app to have drained so much battery is if you’ve used it-” John starts before cutting himself off abruptly, raising his eyes to Sherlock’s as Sherlock’s face flushes with embarrassment.

“Oh my god! That’s why you were so late!” John manages, struggling to stop himself from giggling, “You were catching Pokémon weren’t you!”

“I- I” Sherlock stutters, his face growing redder and redder as he sinks further into the chair. “Look, we did actually get caught in a traffic jam, alright? Victor wanted to go to this Pokestop on the other side of town so we drove down but ended up getting caught in a traffic jam coming back-”

“You truly are unbelievable,” John smiles, his eyes sparkling as he reaches out, patting Sherlock softly on the shoulder.

Sherlock’s flush seems to deepen at John’s touch, his cheeks turning tomato red... Or maybe John is imagining things again.

“How many have you caught so far?”

“Errr…. 37 I believe.”

“Geez that’s a lot for just a few hours… And let me guess… Team Mystic?”

“How did you know?”

“Just a hunch,” John hums, reaching into the cabinet next to him to pull out a clean set of chopsticks, “I joined Team Valor though… Just so you know.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, freeing himself of his coat before dragging his chair closer to John’s.

“So I’m assuming you had a good time?” John inquires, pulling out his box of noodles again.

“Hmmmm…” Sherlock hums, “I’d say so. It was quite nice to see Victor again after such a long time. He’s truly changed a lot in the few years I haven’t seen him.”

John flashes Sherlock a warm smile, his facade of happiness doing its job as he watches Sherlock look off into the distance almost wistfully.

He can literally feel his heartbeat stuttering to a stop, his heart crumbling to pieces.

_He’s truly changed a lot in the few years I haven’t seen him._

God, that could really only mean one thing.

“So Victor is doing fine?” he queries, his eyes fixed on the table before him. He doesn’t feel hungry anymore.

“More than fine I guess,” Sherlock replies, “His father managed to get their family business up and running again so... he’s basically drowning in cash.”

“He appears to have hardly a care in the world now, quite an improvement from the boy I saw ages ago who believed that his future had been stolen from him due to a loss of finances.”

“Oh,” John breathes, gazing forlornly down at his hands. He twiddles his thumbs sadly, unsure of what else to say.

“John...” Sherlock’s voice comes again, “John, seriously are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” John murmurs, turning back to his dinner, twirling his noodles absentmindedly with his chopsticks.

“You’ve been acting weird since yesterday evening. I’ve never seen you… so upset before,” Sherlock’s brow furrows, “Did something happen?”

“Nah,” John responds, turning to face Sherlock now, “I’ve just been really sleepy as of late. Nothing to be worried about.”

Sherlock glances up at him, his nose crinkling as he examines John’s face closely.

He clearly doesn’t believe a whit of what he’s just said.

“Alright John,” he answers, huffing in annoyance, “When you’re feeling up to telling me what’s bothering you, please do so.”

John rolls his eyes, turning back to his noodles. However, just as he’s about to dump another strand of noodle into his mouth, Sherlock’s stomach lets out a large gurgle.

John’s eyes widen at the sound, his noodles plopping back into the container as he turns back to Sherlock in shock.

“You’ve not eaten dinner yet?” he questions, absolutely horrified.

Sherlock looks away sheepishly, opening his mouth to say something before being interrupted by another loud gurgle.

“Well speak for yourself,” he mutters, trying hard to not make eye contact with John.

John sighs, reaching a hand out to drag Sherlock’s chair closer to his side.

“Here, let’s share,” he says, handing the pair of chopsticks to Sherlock as he shifts the packaging towards Sherlock’s side of the table.

“John, I can’t,” Sherlock says, shaking his head, “This is your dinner. You’ve got a game on tomorrow. You need the nutrition-”

“That I’m willing to share with my mad roommate who has completely forgotten to get dinner for himself,” John retorts, smirking down at Sherlock, “Come, scoot over and we can share.”

Sherlock appears to hesitate for a moment, his eyes flicking from John’s face to the packaging before he shifts over to John’s side, reaching for the chopsticks.

“Thanks,” he whispers, dragging the packaging closer to him so that it rests directly under his chin. He proceeds to scoop up a ball of noodles, shovelling them into his mouth hungrily.

John looks on, smiling adoringly at Sherlock as the man continues to scoop more and more food up like a starving man.

He’s never seen Sherlock this hungry before to be honest. Sherlock tends to deny himself food, ignoring his stomach for long periods of time, mostly because his “body is just transport” and his transport “cannot function after ingesting large quantities of food”. However, ever since John has moved in with him, Sherlock has improved. He’s improved _immensely_.

One meal a day has now slowly turned into two (with afternoon tea on the side) and if John were to be boastful, he’d say that it was all his doing. In the earlier stages of their friendship, he’d encouraged Sherlock to eat whenever he had breakfast or went out for lunch. It’d been hard to convince the man, but Sherlock eventually warmed up to the idea after a lot of gentle and careful prodding.

But of course, he shouldn’t be so presumptuous. It’s not like anyone has ever managed to force Sherlock into doing something he didn’t want to do - ever.

John huffs, watching as Sherlock grabs a napkin, wiping his chin swiftly before passing the container over to John, handing him the chopsticks.

“You sure that’s enough for you?” John asks, peering down at the container. It’s half eaten, but that could just be because Sherlock doesn’t want to impose too much on him.

“Yep,” Sherlock answers, nodding his head slowly, “I wasn’t that hungry in the first place anyway.”

John rolls his eyes, turning back to the container with a broad smile on his face.

“There are crisps in the cupboard by the way,” he says, rather matter-of-factly.

It takes Sherlock all of three seconds before he cracks.

“Which cupboard?” the man blurts out, quickly covering his mouth when John fixes him with a sly smile, shaking his head.

“Middle right,” he says, “They’re in the tupperware.”

Sherlock blushes, his cheeks going red as he rises from his seat, walking over to the cupboard. He returns with the tumbler of crisps, popping the cover open and proceeding to munch on them loudly.

“Not hungry you say,” John teases, fixing Sherlock with a playful grin.

“Oh shut up,” his roommate replies, flashing him an annoyed look as he continues to shovel more chips into his mouth.

John watches him for a bit longer, smiling at him almost besottedly before he turns back to the noodles, picking up his chopsticks and digging in.

Hah, he thinks to himself, Victor might have the upperhand in this battle, but he clearly forgot to feed Sherlock, not really boyfriend-ly of him huh? Maybe John does have a shot after all.

He grins smugly for all of five seconds before his smile falls, his shoulders slackening.

Oh god, “battle”, of all the words… And why is he viewing this as a battle? He’s already established that Sherlock’s affection is not a prize to be won but rather a gift that should be given but agh his subconscious doesn’t seem to think so.

He has to fix this - this annoying and possibly devastating insinuation that his brain seems to keep presenting, that John is entitled to Sherlock.

He has to.

He sighs, turning to watch Sherlock again, the man gleefully shoving more chips down his throat as he plugs his phone into the socket in the wall.

John catches a glimpse of the Pokémon Go loading screen and has to bite back a giggle.

Sherlock is absolutely adorable whenever he thinks no one is watching, when he lets down his guard and John has always been privileged to bear witness to these small moments.

However, now with Victor Trevor in the picture, will John have to share these moments with him, or basically share Sherlock in general? The answer is probably yes but it hurts to even think about it so John shakes his head. He should probably think of something else for the time being before he goes mad.

Because he loves Sherlock, he really does. So regardless of what Sherlock chooses, he will and should always be supportive of him, there is no question concerning this.

However, how much it’ll hurt seeing Sherlock make a decision that’ll leave John alone in the dust?

That’s a completely different issue.

 

\----

 

...

 

\----

_It’s Stamford. He’s going in and... the crowd ROARS. He’s got the ball!_

_Stamford putting up a bold front right there. He’s making his way across the-_

_Ooooh Stamford takes a tumble. Johnson’s coming up from the right and-_

_Watson makes a run for it. Stamford makes a pass… He’s got the ball! McKenzie coming up from the right…. Oooh a failed tackle right there._

_Watson still going strong, Myers coming in from the left but Watson makes a dive and... MYERS IS TOO LATE WATSON’S DONE IT. WHAT A BRILLIANT TRY._

_AND IT’S BAKER 35  BROOKSIDE 32. CONGRATULATIONS TO BAKER, YOU’LL BE ON TO THE SEMI-FINALS. WHAT A GAME..._

 

\----

 

“Oh my god John! That try at the end? That was absolutely fantastic!”

“I can’t believe you managed it! That was truly amazing!”

“Well done Watson!”

John beams as he makes his way over to the bleachers, shrugging off his fellow teammates’ praises. He can’t believe he’d actually managed to make that try. It’d all happened in slow motion… and all of a sudden the game was over and John had scored the winning goal.

“John!” a voice in deep baritone calls to him.

John whips his face around almost immediately, finding Sherlock barrelling down the bleachers, his scarf whipping furiously about his head as he makes his way hurriedly towards him.

“Congratulations!” the man cheers as John extends his arms, allowing Sherlock to charge into his embrace. Sherlock wraps his arms around him tightly, even though he’s dirty and gross and covered head to toe in mud. When they break away, John finds that Sherlock is smiling down at him, his cheeks a deep pink.

“That was truly impressive,” Sherlock says simply and it takes all of John’s self-control to not snog that man right there and then.

“Thanks,” he breathes, blushing a little from Sherlock’s praise. It’d always meant more when Sherlock complimented him, partially because the man almost never compliments anyone and partially because he’s one of the few people that John constantly seeks to impress.

He feels absolutely giddy with joy.

“So…” Sherlock starts, “What’s your team planning to do after this?”

Ever since John’s third game, Sherlock had tagged along for every one of John’s celebratory rugby dinners. He’d trailed along in John’s wake on their very first outing, barely making any conversation with the rest of his teammates, shyly listening in to their conversations.

It had been no surprise really, considering Sherlock’s bad experience with rugby players. But after that first dinner, his rugby teammates had really made an effort to reach out to Sherlock, even during school hours.

Whether that had been because John had drunkenly confessed to his team that he had a crush on Sherlock one night, John doesn’t really know. But it’d been nice to see the rest of his team taking it upon themselves to take Sherlock under their wing.

Because of this, Sherlock has become increasingly comfortable around them and recently, John’s taken to notice that Sherlock genuinely enjoys their company.

It makes John really happy, seeing Sherlock like this, comfortable around other human beings. It really does spark a warmth in his chest.

“We’re planning on going to that pizza place down in the southern part of campus,” John grins warmly, “Would you like to join us?”

“Sure, John,” Sherlock answers, flashing him a bright smile before turning back to face the bleachers sheepishly.

“But… Is it okay if I bring someone along?”

John nods his head happily.

“Of course it is Sherlock,” he says, pleased as punch, “My mates are always welcome to any extra additions.”

“Really?” Sherlock’s face lights up, “Well in that case, Victor! Come over here. I want you to meet John.”

Victor? Oh no.

John’s smile falls in an instant.

This isn’t going to end well.

John tries desperately to force a grin as a rather posh looking man makes his way down the bleachers, hurrying towards them.

“John!” Victor smiles, “Nice to meet you.”

He extends a hand and John does so in turn, shaking Victor’s hand briefly.

The first thing that John notices is that Victor’s skin is tanned, a darker shade of beige that stands out in sharp contrast to the milky white of Sherlock’s skin, although not as tanned as John, that is. His hair is a deep brown, short and intentionally mussed to give the effect of volume. He’s slightly taller than Sherlock as well, his height showcased by the carefully tailored pants and shirt that he is currently wearing.

If John hadn’t known that he was screwed before, he sure does now.

“Nice to meet you too,” he chirps, taking an unconscious step back to stand by Sherlock’s side.

“Sherlock’s told me a lot about you,” Victor chuckles, fixing Sherlock with a knowing grin as Sherlock’s cheeks go a deep shade of red.

“So John,” Sherlock butts in, cheeks still flaming, “What time do we leave?”

John nearly doesn’t catch the question, blinded by barely suppressed rage before he comes back to himself, the world rushing back in.

“Err...” he mutters, “After we shower so I’d say… around 6.30?”

“Hmmm… Okay, so we’ll see you back here around then,” Sherlock answers before turning to Victor.

“I still haven’t shown you the labs, why don’t we go take a look to kill time?”

Victor smiles at this, filling John’s stomach with boiling fury.

“Yeah sure,” he says, moving to stand next to Sherlock, “See you later John.”

“Yeah, see you later,” John mutters, watching as Sherlock and Victor stroll off, cutting a rather fitting figure into the landscape.

He looks on as Victor says something, prompting Sherlock to shake his head, shushing him quickly as Victor laughs.

John sighs deeply, turning around and making his way towards the showers.

There’s no doubt about it now, John stands absolutely no chance against Victor.

The man is everything Sherlock is multiplied by at least 10, he’s practically a splitting image of him and John has never seen two people so suited for each other.

He shakes his head, snatching his bag and stepping into the shower.

Dinner is going to be hell.

 

\----

 

“And then Sherlock here decided to catch a frog as retribution and let it loose under Professor Carmichael’s table.”

“You did NOT.”

“In my defence, he was spectacularly annoying,” Sherlock mutters, rolling his eyes, “He had it coming.”

In response, John’s rugby mates roar with laughter. Mike slams a drunken fist down on the table, hooting loudly. However, John refuses to move a muscle, his face neutral as he surveys the scene in front of him.

This is how it’s been for the past one hour, Victor relating story after story about Sherlock to his rugby mates, some of which John has never heard of. It seems to have struck a chord with them because with the end of every story, comes a loud wave of laughter.

So Victor isn’t just handsome and rich, he’s funny and good-natured.

John is absolutely miserable.

At least Sherlock is having fun.

“Hey John!” one of his drunken rugby mates calls, “Why didn’t you introduce us to this guy sooner. He’s a hoot!”

John sighs, swirling the glass of cider in his hand before taking a huge gulp.

“For the last time, I only just met him. He’s Sherlock’s friend not mine,” he mutters before going back to moping.

It would have been better if he’d gotten to talk to Sherlock more tonight. However, all he’s gotten have been shy smiles that Sherlock has flashed his way every now and then.

Technically, John shouldn’t be angry because Sherlock is sandwiched between Victor and Charlie in the booth, making it harder for him to get a word in... But honestly, that just serves to make John even more jealous because godammit he should have insisted that Sherlock sat next to hi-

No... No, he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts as his friends continue to chortle, Mckenzie now engaged in a friendly conversation with Victor. Sherlock should be allowed to choose. He should be-

“HOLY SHIT THERE’S A DRAGONITE ON THE LEFT SIDE OF CAMPUS,” one of his less drunk rugby teammates yells, staring down flabbergasted at his phone.

At this, he turns around, dashing out of the diner, leaving the rest of them sitting in the booth in stunned silence.

John shakes his head, on any other day he’d probably have been more excited.

1, 2, 3… he thinks to himself.

And his rugby teammates have all stood up, their phones all flickering to life as some hop over the diner table while others still have the presence of mind to file out slowly from the booth.

Thank god they’ve paid already, John thinks to himself as he follows his teammates out of the door reluctantly, still miserable.

He watches forlornly as they race away into the darkness, cheering like hounds on the scent of a hunt. At any other time, this would have been extremely humorous to him, but now? It just makes him feel a little abandoned and unwanted.

“Hey Sherlock! John!” Victor calls from the side, his voice causing John to whip his head around.

“I can drive you guys to the other side of campus if you want!” he hollers, “It’ll probably be faster.”

Sherlock flashes Victor a bright grin before turning to John. “Do you want to come along?” he questions.

“Nah, I’m good,” John mutters darkly, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, “You go on ahead without me.”

Something tells John that this time round he didn’t do a very good job of masking his emotions because Sherlock stops in his tracks, blinking at him in confusion.

“John… Are you alright?” he whispers, fixing electric blue eyes on him.

“M’fine,” John mutters, forcing a smile which Sherlock seems to see through immediately, the man’s brow furrowing, “Just go on without me, it’ll be okay.”

He turns around, walking sullenly off in the direction of the dorm. At least he can get some sort of respite there whilst Sherlock gets to enjoy a night out with his new boyfriend.

There’s a short pause as Sherlock mutters something intelligble to Victor, Victor murmuring something back. And just like that, John hears footsteps headed straight for him.

“Sherlock it’s okay really,” he shakes his head, turning around to face his roommate once again, “Just go off with Victor. I’m okay on my own-”

“No, John,” Sherlock responds when he catches up with him, his nose crinkled in confusion, “Something is clearly troubling you-”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“Please just leave me alone.”

“Not a chance.”

John sighs, giving it up as Sherlock falls into step with him, their shared footsteps now in tandem.

“Did I do something wrong?” Sherlock breathes, “Did I say something I wasn’t supposed t-”

“No,” John smiles bitterly, “No that’s not it. You did nothing wrong.”

Sherlock hums in response, thinking the situation over.

“So it’s something about Victor then, isn’t it?”

John can’t help it but his fists clench involuntarily at his name. Sherlock picks up on it immediately.

“So it IS something about Victor, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been off colour since Monday-”

“Sherlock give it a rest,” John sighs in exasperation, shaking his head.

“What is it concerning him that’s bothering you?” Sherlock bends into John’s personal space, fixing him with a frustrated gaze, as if John is a child caught eating the last cookie from the cookie jar and refusing to own up.

It’s starting to wear on him.

“NOTHING!” John cries, throwing his hands up into the air. “Nothing at all geez!”

“The fact that you’re shouting indicates that there clearly is _something…”_

John refuses to respond to that, letting Sherlock’s sentence trail off as he picks up his pace, walking twice as fast now. It seems to stun Sherlock for a moment before he races ahead to catch up, his long legs helping him make up for the distance.

“John Watson, this isn’t helping either of us. Please just tell me what’s wrong so that we can sort this out once and for all. You haven’t been your goddamn self since Monday-”

And John can’t take it anymore. Thoughts of Sherlock and Victor swirl round and round wildly in his head, thundering down in a great cascade of jealousy. Because Victor is perfect, Victor is amazing and Sherlock loves Victor and... and… fuck is this is the most unfortunate thing to happen to John Watson because he’d thought… from the start that-

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MINE!” he yells all of a sudden, his eyes blazing.

Sherlock stares back at him, absolutely stunned.

John snarls back at Sherlock, the fog of jealousy slowly clearing… And that’s when he catches himself, his face paling as he turns away from Sherlock abruptly, absolutely mortified.

“I didn’t mean that, fuck I didn’t mean that Sherlock I’m so sorry,” he babbles, breaking out in a cold sweat.

Oh no, he’s messed up. He’s messed up. What is he going to do-

However, Sherlock doesn’t respond. Instead, he continues to look at John intently, scrutinising his face carefully.

“John,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to pry John’s hand away from his face.

Sherlock’s going to tell him to leave, that he doesn’t want to friends anymore. And John won’t get to see him ever again- AND-

But Sherlock bends down instead, fixing John with a knowing look. He leans in swiftly, pressing his lips firmly to John’s.

And suddenly, John can’t breathe.

He stares back, eyes wide as Sherlock’s lips slowly leave his, his eyes fluttering open as he fixes John with mesmerising electric blue eyes, rendering John speechless.

Is he dreaming? He must be and yet-

“What- What just happened?” John manages after a moment, his eyes refusing to leave Sherlock’s as Sherlock’s cheeks redden visibly, blinking shyly.

“I kissed you,” Sherlock whispers, seemingly as shocked about it as John feels, “I actually… ohmygod-”

He turns his head away in mortification, burrowing his head down into his scarf and that has to be the most adorable thing that John has ever witnessed.

“Do you?” John breathes, hope rising in his chest, “Have you? How long…”

“A while- I- I thought you knew-”

“No I didn’t! I really didn’t know… I mean I suspected but-”

They’re both stuttering now, each clearly as surprised as the other so John clears his throat, trying to clear his mind a bit.

“I’m sorry… that you had to find out in that way,” he murmurs, gazing apologetically up at Sherlock.

“What do you mean?”

“That confession… It was pretty selfish and oh god it sounded so possessive. I don’t actually think of you in that way. You’re not mine you’re-”

Sherlock chuckles in response.

“John, come off it, you’ve always been a pretty possessive person-”

John hangs his head at this so Sherlock hurries on.

“However, no matter how protective you’ve ever been over your friends or even me, never have you ever infringed on our privacy or personal space and I know for a fact that you’d never willingly do so-”

“But that’s just the thing!” John sighs, “Never willingly. Sherlock, I came this close to telling you to stay away from Victor yesterday.” He pinches his thumb and index finger, holding them up for Sherlock to see.

“This close! And what if I had done it! What if- Look I even told you that you were ‘mine’. How horrible can I get?”

At this, John hangs his head low, shaking it vigorously.

“John,” Sherlock smiles, “I know you’d never force me to do something I didn’t want to do. And yes, you might have had those thoughts, but what’s important is that you didn’t act on them. John, our character is more so judged by what we do rather than the thoughts our mind randomly generates.”

“I’m still sorry,” John murmurs, “That was completely unacceptable… what I did.”

Sherlock hums.

“John, it was a knee-jerk reaction and I pushed you too far. And yeah, maybe it was unacceptable… But you still had the presence of mind to be sorry about it, so clearly you aren’t as bad as you think you are.”

“In future, if this happens again, I’ll just tell you flat out what I think. Remember, you can’t possibly ever force me to do something I don’t want to do.”

He chuckles, turning to John who fixes him with a weary smile.

“However… You can be as possessive as you want when… we’re alone. I find it quite… appealing,” Sherlock blushes as he says this, burrowing his head deeper into his shirt and John has never wanted to kiss him more.

“So…” John starts, smirking, “Are you offering?”

Sherlock stares back at him, wide-eyed.

“Maybe?” he responds shyly, cheeks turning a deeper crimson and John can’t help but lick his lips at the sight.

He fixes Sherlock with a predatory grin, Sherlock’s breath hitching as he buries a hand in his curls, pulling his head downwards to meet him, their lips colliding once again.

Sherlock gasps as John rakes his fingers over his scalp, his other hand coming to cup the side of his cheek as he worries Sherlock’s bottom lip with his own, pulling and tugging repeatedly before going back in for more.

John’s not entirely sure whether this is true or not but it seems like Sherlock has either (a) not kissed anybody properly before (b) never had the chance to learn proper technique because the man’s movements are a little sloppy and uncoordinated and their noses keep bumping together more often than need be.

He sets out to guide him, licking a seam down Sherlock’s lips, eliciting a shudder out of the man as he takes over the kiss, angling his face sharply so that their lips slot together without their noses bumping.

He traps the puckered skin between his own, pulling roughly and repeating the movement again and again and again and slowly Sherlock starts to get the hang of it, giving back as good as he can get.

It’s then that John decides to try something new, licking Sherlock’s lips as a warning before pushing his tongue through, stroking the roof of Sherlock’s mouth slowly.

Sherlock’s eyes shoot wide open in response, moaning softly as his legs buckle, forcing John to reach under his armpits and haul him up before he falls.

John pulls away for air, smirking down at Sherlock who blinks up owlishly at him, his eyes dark and open.

He’d never have thought that they would have ended up like this - making out on a pavement at 11 o’clock at night. It’s such a strange, new and novel experience and John wants to savour as much of it as he can.

“So...” he smirks, “Let me guess… Kissing - not really your area.”

Sherlock flicks his eyes to John’s sheepishly.

“No not really… considering that that was the first time I’ve ever been kissed, not counting the kiss I gave you before.”

John’s smile falls as his face dons an incredulous look instead.

“So. you haven’t-”

“I’m a virgin if that’s what you’re trying to get at,” Sherlock huffs, shaking his head, “Is that alright with you?”

John smiles warmly up at him.

“Sherlock, when it comes to you? Honestly, anything goes,” John beams, “As long as you’re you.”

Sherlock blushes in response.

“Although… since it’ll be your first time… Are you sure-”

“Of course I’m sure,” Sherlock rolls his eyes, “I’ve never been sure of anything more in my life! Can’t we just get back to our dorm already. I left my coat back there and I’m starting to get cold.”

He starts walking again, cheeks still red as John rushes to catch up.

“Here,” he says, stripping off his jacket and handing it to Sherlock, “Wear this if you’re cold.”

Sherlock looks down at John for a moment, smiling shyly as he slips it on.

In all honesty, it doesn’t fit Sherlock very well, the jacket merely comes up to his waist and it’s far too baggy for him… And yet… It’s something of John’s, on Sherlock’s body and John is getting a rather visceral reaction out of this.

“You’re enjoying this,” Sherlock murmurs, as John’s eyes zero in on the huge ‘Watson’ in white block letters on his back, “Aren’t you?”

“Hmmm… what?”

Sherlock chuckles in response.

“Never mind, let’s… hurry home,” he says, burrowing his fingers deep into the pockets of John’s jacket, causing John’s heart to twist at the sight.

“Yeah,” John murmurs, his brain slowly coming back online.

“Yes, let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oohoooo ;) I guess we all know what's coming next chapter HAHA. Tune in in... one or two weeks? We'll see how this goes.
> 
> P.S. Team Mystic is the best
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://predictably-unpredictable.tumblr.com) !!!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!!! In all of its nsfw glory. Hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic! It's been a blast writing it! uwu. I'm posting it earlier than usual because I suspect that I'll be busy on Friday and Saturday. Thank you all for reading! Your support has truly been phenomenal and it really spurred me to write on!!! Thanks so much!

They barely make it through the doorway.

It’s a little surprising because John had assumed that, considering the state of things, that he was the party who was more keyed up, the person who’d be the first to lose their minds in bliss.

However, for some reason that person isn’t him.

It’s Sherlock.

The man is already breathing heavily as he drags John into the room, tugging him almost mindlessly towards himself. Thankfully, John still has enough presence of mind to lock the door.

The walk back had been full of barely repressed tension, every shift and brush of Sherlock’s arm against his enough to set the sparks in his chest aflame and the moment they’d reached the lift, Sherlock’s resolve had broken and he’d been on him in an instant, pressing his lips firmly to John’s. Thankfully the shock had worn off quickly and John had been able to take over the kiss, Sherlock a little lost without John’s guidance.

It’s the sexiest thing that John’s ever experienced.

He pushes Sherlock up against their room wall now, grabbing his hands and pinning them high above his head as he plunders his roommate’s mouth, his tongue dipping roughly in and out as his other hand comes to rest in Sherlock’s hair, fisting his curls tightly as he angles Sherlock’s head, their lips slotting together perfectly.

Sherlock groans in response, tangling his tongue with John’s, his hands jerking fitfully in John’s grip as he makes soft, wet whimpers that send shivers down John’s spine.

John lets his hands loose after a moment, taking pity on the man and Sherlock’s hands reach out to rest on John’s shoulders, scrabbling for purchase as John continues to rake his hands across Sherlock’s scalp, licking into his mouth.

“You okay?” John breathes when they break away for air, Sherlock’s breaths coming harshly against his lips as he heaves, his eyes wide and dark.

“M’fine,” he murmurs in response and John chuckles in response.

His lips return to Sherlock’s, tugging his bottom lip down to meet his as he slips a hand under Sherlock’s shirt, raking it up and down his chest.

Sherlock cries out in response, his knees buckling again (he really isn’t good at standing up and doing this sort of thing, is he?) so John hooks Sherlock’s legs up, his thighs bracketing John’s hips.

Sherlock’s eyes widen in surprise as John half-carries him over to his bed, setting him down gently.

“It’ll probably be less tiring if we do this here,” he explains as Sherlock’s cheeks redden in embarrassment.

He bends over Sherlock’s torso, pressing firm, chaste kisses to the rosy red patches on his cheeks as tentative hands start to press up against John’s chest, feeling the dips and creases of the muscles there.

John smiles against Sherlock’s skin, stopping temporarily to nuzzle his face into Sherlock’s neck as Sherlock grows bolder, slipping his hands under John’s shirt.

“Can I?” he whispers softly and John’s heart stutters at the sound.

“Of course,” he breathes. Sherlock takes that as his cue and lifts John’s shirt up off his body, revealing more and more skin till the piece of fabric is fully off. Sherlock hurls it away, his cheeks now deepening to a dark red as John’s eyes meet his.

Sherlock’s eyes travel down his compact frame, southwards towards the bulge in his pants and upwards towards the muscles on his chest. Sherlock’s gaze lingers on his jeans for a moment before he gulps, his pupils expanding as he fixes John with a pleading look.

John flashes him a predatory gaze in response, shucking his pants as Sherlock looks on, his tongue darting out to wet his lip as John is left in nothing but his boxers, a wet patch on the front already visible.

“Fuck,” Sherlock exhales, his chest heaving as he props himself up on his arms to get a better view and John can’t help but smirk in response.

“Like what you see, huh?” he teases, eyebrow half-raised as he leans up, planting his lips on Sherlock’s once again.

“Your turn now,” he mutters and Sherlock nods his head vigorously, extending his arms swiftly so that John can get his jacket and shirt off of him, leaving him with milky white skin.

He brushes a hand over Sherlock’s chest, absolutely mesmerised. He’s never seen Sherlock without a shirt on before so this is entirely new to him.

“You're beautiful, you know that?” he exhales, kissing the patch of skin right over Sherlock’s thumping heart as Sherlock’s cheeks redden, his eyelashes fluttering.

He draws patterns on Sherlock’s skin, admiring the paleness of it as he swirls his fingers up and around smooth pectorals. Sherlock shudders in response, his breathing hitching as John turns his attention to his nipples, massaging circles around the pink nubs before pinching one experimentally.

Sherlock cries out in response, the bulge in his pants visibly engorging as his hips jerk up off the bed.

“Well,” John mumbles as Sherlock lets out a deep sigh, his gaze hooded as he struggles to catch his breath, “That’s one g spot down.”

He’s about to toss the shirt and jacket away before Sherlock rests a hand on his arm, tugging at it gently.

“I… I want to wear the jacket,” he mutters, “If that’s alright with you.”

If he hadn’t been careful, John would have come right then and there.

His breaths deepen as he hands the jacket back to Sherlock, watching as Sherlock slips it on almost gleefully, the cuffs fitting tightly over his wrists.

Sherlock looks an absolute mess. His hair is in complete disarray, his cheeks streaked with saliva, his chest flushed and his lips a bright, cherry red. That and the jacket is really starting to do him in…

 _Mine… mine… mine…_ the voices start to chant in John’s head but John shakes them away. He can’t be like this all the time… He can’t.

“John,” Sherlock whispers, his hand reaching out to caress his cheek.

“It’s okay remember,” he mumbles, pressing a gentle kiss to John’s lips, “I want this.”

“No,” John mumbles, bending down to bury his face in Sherlock’s neck, thinking that not looking at Sherlock will quell the beast inside of him. Instead, he ends up inhaling the mingling scent of his jacket and Sherlock’s sweat.

That doesn't help one bit.

“It’s not that… it’s-”

“You’re scared of losing control, aren’t you?” Sherlock murmurs, unbuttoning his pants and shifting them up and off his waist, “Scared of hurting me?”

John sighs.

“I’m a possessive bastard Sherlock,” he mumbles, trying desperately not to think about the bulge in Sherlock’s briefs that has just aligned with his thigh, “This night is supposed to be about you, not me. I don’t want to make this bad for you-”

Sherlock sighs in response, kicking his pants off onto the floor.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe what you want is the same as what I want?” he mutters in deep baritone into the shell of John’s ear, sending a shiver down John’s spine. “I did say that I was… more than amenable to your possessive nature when we are alone so…”

“... Go ahead John,” he finishes, dragging John’s hand over to rest on the band of his briefs.

“Make me yours.”

And that's all it takes for John's self-control to break.

Sherlock’s words zing immediately down to John’s cock, his body taking over as John growls, tearing Sherlock’s briefs off.

Sherlock yelps in response, taking the opportunity to dig into John’s bedside drawer as John surveys Sherlock’s cock, his eyes darkening as it springs free, the tip resting up against his navel. It’s longer and slimmer than his, but elegant all the same and John finds that he can’t tear his eyes away-

“And you might want this,” Sherlock whispers, handing John a condom packet and lube, “I don’t mind if we…”

He lets the sentence trail off, the implication not lost on John as his brow furrows, staring down at Sherlock in confusion.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, “It’s your first time… We can do a whole bunch of other things if you want-”

“No,” Sherlock answers firmly, pressing the condom packet further into John’s palm, “I want this.”

John raises a hand to Sherlock’s cheek.

“You’re sure?”

Sherlock smiles in answer.

“Positive.”

John smirks as he rips open the condom packet with him teeth. He pulls off his pants, Sherlock sitting up at rapt attention (probably to get a better look) as his cock springs free. Sherlock gapes in response, his lips forming a circular O as John fixes him with a smug look.

“That impressive, huh?” he teases as he pinches the tip of the rubber, rolling it on. Sherlock merely blinks in response, his eyes widening as John opens the lube packet, rubbing it in his hands to warm it before coating his cock liberally with it.

He smears it over his fingers as well, ensuring that each is properly slicked up before reaching downwards, tracing a finger slowly down Sherlock’s perineum before reaching the furled hole at the back.

Sherlock’s hips buck in response, prompting John to use his free hand to hold him down as he guides his index finger towards the opening, swirling gently around the rim.

“You ready?” he exhales, turning to look at Sherlock who nods affirmatively, his body shaking with anticipation.

He slips the first finger in, Sherlock gasping at the sensation as his hold on John’s body tightens, his fingertips digging into John’s shoulders. John shifts the finger around for a bit, waiting till the tension has left Sherlock’s body before slipping another in.

“This okay?” he breathes as he slips the final finger in, watching as Sherlock nods furiously.

“Yeah, m’fine,” he mutters in response, “Just fucking move already.”

John chuckles, shaking his head at Sherlock’s impatience as he starts to shift the three fingers in and out of Sherlock’s opening, stretching Sherlock further before he crooks his fingers, aiming for…

“FUCK JOHN,” Sherlock yells, shouting loudly as his hips snap up off the bed, his body bending forward as he digs his fingers further into John’s skin. It’s probably going to leave a mark but John honestly doesn’t mind.

“Found it,” John smirks, stroking the same spot again as Sherlock convulses, crying out.

“For godsakes, stop doing that and get on with it or I will-”

John shakes his head in response, quickly slipping his fingers out, prompting Sherlock to let out a soft whine. He lines his cock up with Sherlock’s entrance, shifting Sherlock’s legs up above his shoulders so that the man is bent nearly in half.

Sherlock sighs in response, his head falling back against the pillow as John pushes in slowly, moaning softly before Sherlock stills in response. He stops for a moment, waiting for Sherlock to catch his breath before the man nods again, egging him on until he’s fully sheathed inside Sherlock’s body.

It’s a strange and weird feeling. He’s done this with a few of his other boyfriends before but this? This feels… different somehow, probably because it’s Sherlock.

“You’re fine?” he queries, his eyes locking with Sherlock’s as he leans in, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

Sherlock snarls in response, the vibration coursing through John’s chest. He’s obviously starting to get a little impatient.

“I’m FINE,” Sherlock berates, his curls sweat soaked and sticking to his forehead, “Just FUCK ME ALREADY- OHMYGOD.”

John chuckles as he starts to move, listening as Sherlock yelps in surprise once again.

“So how does that feel?” John teases, pivoting in and out of his Sherlock’s body as Sherlock shudders, his arms coming upwards to wrap around John’s neck.

“Good… Just, please…” he babbles, his breaths coming hard and fast, “Don’t stop.”

“Didn’t have any intention of doing so,” John smirks as he bends down, pressing his lips firmly to Sherlock’s as he continues to fuck the man slowly, relishing every breathy moan that Sherlock emits.

He finds his prostrate again easily enough, Sherlock letting out a loud groan into the cavern of John’s mouth when he does so and John smiles against Sherlock’s lips, dipping his tongue inwards to intertwine it with Sherlock’s as he hits the man’s prostrate over and over again.

“You’re beautiful…” he mumbles when they break away for air, Sherlock struggling to kiss back as pleasure starts to overtake him. “Gorgeous, so amazing… mine.”

“Yes yours,” Sherlock responds, his hips snapping in time with John’s thrusts as he tightens his hold on him, “Yours yours, always have been, always will be-”

“Gonna fill you up, gonna make you feel so good, make you mine,” John growls and Sherlock’s heart leaps in response, his chest thumping loudly as John shifts, burying his face in the juncture of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder.

He worries the skin there with his lips for a moment before biting down hard, eliciting a moan from Sherlock as he pinches the spot over and over again with his teeth, certain that it’ll leave a mark there for everyone to see.

“Mine,” John whispers as he speeds up, listening as Sherlock groans, digging his heels deeper into the curve of his back. “Mine… Mine… Mine.”

He lowers a hand to Sherlock’s groin, taking the man’s cock in hand. Sherlock yelps in answer, arching off the bed as his hips snap downwards. He buries his face into the pillow, involuntarily thrusting upwards into John’s grip, further impaling himself on John’s cock.

“More… Please,” Sherlock manages, his voice barely a whisper as John groans, his fingers curling around Sherlock’s shaft, pumping it hard and fast. He watches on with hooded eyes as Sherlock screws his eyes tightly shut, gritting his teeth.

He aims for Sherlock’s prostrate one last time, pushing in roughly and seating himself as deeply as possible, Sherlock now bent nearly in half. Sherlock screams into the pillow, his voice muffled as he gives one final tremble before going still, pulsing all over John’s hand. Some of the come leaks onto his chest as he shudders, riding out his orgasm.

His passageway convulses in response, surprising John as he thrusts in and out a few more times before coming, stars exploding behind his eyes as he collapses, falling right on top of Sherlock, his chest heaving violently.

He waits till his breathing slows before slipping out with a wet ‘squelch’, Sherlock whining softly at the loss of contact as John slips off the condom, hurling it into the bin.

John shakes his head, struggling to clear the fog of post-sex euphoria as he makes his way into the bathroom, grabbing a flannel before returning to the bed, proceeding to wipe Sherlock’s chest up.

Sherlock grunts in response, lifting his hands up towards John in invitation so John sighs, chucking the soiled flannel onto the floor as he falls into Sherlock’s arms, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck.

“So…” he hums, “How was that?”

Sherlock smiles tiredly up at him.

“Good… Better than good…” he purrs, dragging John’s head downwards and burying his nose in John’s hair.

John sighs happily, raking his hands up and down Sherlock’s back.

This is probably the happiest he’s been in ages. Here with Sherlock in his arms… He can’t believe his luck… If not for Victor, they wouldn’t have gotten he-

Wait.

“Sherlock,” John mumbles, mind whirring away now that the haze of endorphins is clearing, “What about Victor? I thought you liked Victor.”

Sherlock laughs sleepily in response, shaking his head.

“God John,” he responds, “He was just a friend, nothing more. And if it helps, Victor is already off limits, he’s got a boyfriend back home.”

“Oh okay,” John murmurs, feeling extremely stupid, “So those outings… they weren't… dates?”

That eases another giggle out of Sherlock.

“No. We were just catching up, nothing more,” he smiles, nuzzling into John's shoulder.

John can literally feel his cheeks going red.

“I should probably go and apologise to him for how I acted huh?”

“If you like,” Sherlock smiles, “He’s going back on Sunday so you will have the whole of Friday and Saturday to catch up.”

John smirks in response.

“Yeah, sure thing,” John answers, tracing the ‘Watson’ block letters on the jacket that is still adorning Sherlock’s torso.

“After all, you do owe me a Dragonite,” Sherlock chuckles and John shakes his head.

“Anything for you boyfriend,” he answers and Sherlock’s cheeks immediately turn a deep shade of pink.

“Boyfriend,” John whispers again as he entangles himself from Sherlock’s grip. He turns onto his side, getting himself comfortable on the bed before tugging Sherlock closer to him, wrapping a hand around his body and holding him close.

Sherlock burrows into John’s chest in response, sighing happily as he hooks a hand around John’s neck, drawing him towards him.

“I love you John Watson,” he murmurs, his voice sleep drenched and John can’t help but smile.

“And I love you too,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, “Sherlock Holmes.”

 

 

\----

 

 

“There’s a fucking Dratini down by the lake. We just left the lake this isn’t fai-”

“Victor, if we keep switching locations, it’s undeniable that we’ll never get anything good.”

“You two, please shut up,” John huffs, shaking his head as he scans the map on his phone, “There’s supposedly a Lapras somewhere nearby and I think it’d be best if we went looking for that instead of arguing.”

Victor and Sherlock pause in their tracks, fixing John with guilty looks.

“Yes, of course,” Victor smiles, shuffling over to John’s side as Sherlock follows suit, “How close by do you think we are?”

It hadn’t taken long for John to warm up to Victor. The man was, as expected, warm and funny but most importantly, a good friend to Sherlock and that obviously had to count for something.

He’d accepted John’s apology almost immediately, taking the situation surprisingly well and John had heaved a sigh of relief, thanking his lucky stars that he hadn’t managed to burn his bridges before even building them.

“Nearby, I suspect,” John answers, “It’s probably down the block. If we walk fast enough, we should be able to catch it before it disappears.”

“Good idea John,” Sherlock smiles, sidling up to him, “That’ll probably make up for the Dragonite that seems to keep eluding us.”

John shakes his head, chuckling as he starts forward, Sherlock and Victor following after him. They need to be done by 2 p.m. They’ll be meeting Mike and Irene for lunch down at the discount diner and John would rather not be late (Irene is rather terrifying when pissed).

That being said, excitement is still bubbling up in his chest at the thought of lunch. He hasn’t yet informed Irene and Mike about the shift in their relationship and simply can’t wait to do so.

He wonders what Mike will say, whether he’ll congratulate them... or cry like he did when Myers and Amy got together.

Irene, on the other hand, will probably insist that she take credit for the whole thing. He’ll probably have to inform her that contrary to her belief, it hadn’t actually been him who’d properly initiated the whole thing but rather it’d been Sherlock who had kissed him first.

Irene will be livid.

“Actually Sherlock,” John questions, surfacing from his thoughts, “That night when you went out with Victor, what on earth did you catch? We could try that side of town later is there was anything good.”

“Nothing but Pidgeys and Rattatas,” Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Absolutely-”

“No,” Victor chimes in, “There were a bunch of Clefairys that you missed because you were talking about John remember?”

Sherlock’s face reddens almost immediately, his footsteps stuttering as John flashes a look of abject confusion at Victor.

“Wait what?”

Victor chuckles in response as Sherlock shakes his head, mouthing ‘please do not’ repeatedly at him.

“Let’s just say that whenever we hung out, all we ever talked about was you,” Victor continues, John listening intently as Sherlock makes a sound similar to that of a dying fish, “It was always John is so good at this, John really likes doing this-”

Victor flashes Sherlock a sinister grin before going on.

“- John looks really fit in rugby shorts…”

“ENOUGH!” Sherlock cries, charging forward to cup his hands over Victor’s mouth as John chortles, his eyes dancing.

“Fit in rugby shorts, do I really?”

“IGNORE HIM!”

“... He also said that you have the most dreamy muscles out of all the men he’s eve-” Victor manages, prying Sherlock’s hands away from his mouth before Sherlock smacks him hard on the back, his cheeks a deep crimson.

“Victor, if you don’t shut up I will-”

“Sherlock, you are absolutely adorable, do you know that?” John interrupts, reaching up to ruffle Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock stops in his tracks immediately, his eyes finding John’s almost instantly.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously seriously,” John answers sincerely as Victor gags, mumbling a soft ‘ugh, go get a room’ as John presses a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s lips, Sherlock beaming away happily.

John reaches a hand out to stroke Sherlock’s cheek, smiling widely as their gazes lock, dark blue irises meeting electric cerulean and it’s like the whole world has stopped just for the-

“God, are you guys going to come or not,” Victor sighs, waving at them to hurry up, “What happened to ‘getting there before it disappears’.”

John giggles in response, taking Sherlock’s hand in his.

“You ready?” he smiles, watching as Sherlock grins back at him, his eyes dancing.

He still can’t believe that they managed to make it here, after all that miscommunication and confusion. He thought he’d never have a shot with Sherlock, or that his possessive nature would be the undoing of their relationship and yet… the man is still here, still with him, prepared to see him through any mistake or error that he might make, any high and low.

It stuns John completely that he could have found someone so perfect for him, someone so accepting and the fact that he could get into a relationship with them at all… It’s amazing really. He’s legitimately certain, unlike his previous flings, that this is going to turn into more than just a short, year-long relationship of texts and emails and dates. He can feel it in his bones, that this relationship might just be asking for forever and while John is ready for it… he’s not sure if Sherlock is-

“I’m ready,” Sherlock answers, startling John out of his thoughts as he tugs on John’s hand, leading him up to where Victor is standing.

He chuckles, planting another kiss on John’s lips and all of a sudden John can sense it, that promise of forever encapsulated in the simple press of Sherlock’s lips to his.

They’re both rubbish at talking, rubbish at sorting things out verbally… But physically? Through gentle touches and caresses? That is where their strength in communication lies.

“I’m ready,” Sherlock continues, as if reading John’s mind.

“I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading guys! It means so much to me to see people commenting and giving kudos and aw!!! You guys are so sweet. Love you all!
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://predictably-unpredictable.tumblr.com) !!! I have another fic planned btw but it's gonna be a long ass fic so I need to finish THTDU first... So follow me for more updates haha (and bad shitposts)


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